


M is for Moriarty

by TheSourceOfAll



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Child Moran, Child Moriarty, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of past child abuse, Not quite a Kid fic, Other, inspired by Wee Doctor, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-10 09:19:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5580010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSourceOfAll/pseuds/TheSourceOfAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A criminal mastermind causing havoc in London, a highly intelligent serial killer and an office war with his bodyguard, James can handle that, but reality-altering weapons is just crossing the line. When this is over, he is giving himself a raise and possibly a vacation. Who is he kidding? The Korean election is in three weeks, he’s never getting a vacation.</p>
<p>Sherlock, what kind of name is Sherlock anyways, had picked up what James assumed was a gun, a strange looking gun and was aiming at him. Short, unimpressive him, who just so happen to be bleeding all over the floor and with no way of defending himself.  James really hated fieldwork.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Wee Doctor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/463770) by [americanjedi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/americanjedi/pseuds/americanjedi). 



> This idea has been in my head for a few weeks so I decided to write it down and see where it leads.
> 
> If you haven't read the Wee Doctor series by americanjedi I suggest you do it, it is by far my favorite Sherlock fic, hands down.
> 
> I also want to credit the wonderful wellingtongoose (tumblr) for her insightful essays on the characters.

The world was going to shit. That was the long and short of it. Ever since the rise of ‘Mike’ in the turning of the century, nothing and more importantly, no one was safe. Crime was taken to a whole other level, even the best of MI6, MI5 and Scotland Yard had a hard time catching the culprits. It was no surprise when Moriarty himself had to step in and catch the mastermind behind it. After all, no one made Moriarty look like anything but in complete control; no one challenged him and got away with it.

The message had been delivered via every computer and hand held device in the Scotland Yard building as James walked into the building. A cacophony of irritating notification sounds that had James contemplating the logistics of stealing every phone with the sole purpose of switching it to a less obnoxious tune. Moran’s knowing glare forced the genius to resist the temptation. He’d have to switch it up, if there was one thing James Moriarty was **not** , it was predictable. James kept on walking with a pleasant smile that screamed _I’m happy to be of assistance_ , as if the thought of replacing the entire staff of the MET with competent people had never crossed his mind. Moran, always one step behind and to his right, remained silent as the alert tones followed them to one detective inspector Lestrade’s office, the best the MET had to offer. 

“May I?” James ignored the look of surprise turned to shock on the detective’s face upon reading the text. _Shall we dance?_ The detective began issuing orders to trace where the message had come from. Neither guest bothered to inform him that it was a waste of time. Let the man feel useful and hopefully he’d be back in his office in time for tea.

 _People like people who like them._ This was one of the first things James had learned growing up. Play along and your chances of getting a beating decrease dramatically, by roughly 68% when there isn’t alcohol involved, and even then he’d was happy with the 35% decrease as well. Family was messy like that. With that in mind James took a seat and waited for Lestrade to return. The meeting didn’t take long, both had been briefed on the situation long before arriving so James skipped to the important questions and examining the evidence.

They danced, nearly a year of ridiculously orchestrated crimes for him to solve while still being the British Government and everything it entailed. Moran, his second never complained. James suspected the older man was having far too much fun chasing down criminals and there would be a lot of complaining once they returned to covet meetings and rigging elections.

Moriarty’s life had never been that exciting, and he honestly was not so sure he liked fieldwork. He missed his nice evenings with a good book more than anything. Moran had outright laughed in his face when he’d made his sentiments known. Laughed, in the face of the man who was the British Government! James had replaced his coffee with decaf on random days for a month just for that. Moran retaliated by forcing him to be driven around town in suspicious black cars every time he needed to go somewhere, citing he needed the extra security. James missed the subway; he missed being a nobody among the masses of people moving about London, he also made Moran wear a suit and sunglasses like the stereotypical bodyguards. Irene got a kick out of watching their field war and refused to get involved until James demanded they addressed his as Master and decided to change his title to Supreme Ruler. Things had gone back to normal then, as normal as chasing down mass murdering psychopaths at night was at least.

They were getting the job done and frankly, James was getting sick of this crime-solving gig when they managed to corner said psychopath in an abandoned warehouse. He should’ve know it was a trap, it was all _too_ easy, and he was disappointed with himself for getting shot in the right shoulder. It only got worse, their psycho kept talking about testing a machine, James was having a hard time not passing out to pay much attention. Luckily, Moran was there to keep him focused. Mr. Psycho, Sherlock, what kind of name is Sherlock anyways, had picked up what James assumed was a gun, a strange looking gun and was aiming at him. Short, unimpressive him, who just so happen to be bleeding all over the floor and with no way of defending himself. Yes, he had dropped his gun when he was shot. James _really_ hated fieldwork.

Sherlock kept talking, not noticing or maybe not caring that James could barely stay awake, never mind follow his unnecessarily detailed explanation of what was the gun, what it did and yada, yada. He still managed to snort at the time altering bit. Blame it on the blood loss. It was a bad move because Sherlock stopped talking and shot him. Moran had managed to get close enough to tackle the serial killer but he had already fired and no amount of scrambling out of the way could save James.

 _I should have chosen Mathematics._ He thought as he was hit with jet of red light that spread through his body in seconds and he fainted.

-*-*-*-

To be fair James had studied Mathematics, but his passion was Behavioral Psychology. He loved people watching when younger and understanding people’s behavior had fascinated him, still did. He still had a degree in Applied Mathematics, it wasn’t easy to get a job with just a Psychology degree even if he was gifted. That way his parents had stopped nagging and he got to learn something interesting. The job in the government and becoming said government had never even crossed his mind while he was still getting his degrees. He had interned as an assistant in his last year and being good at getting others to do what you wanted landed him a job once he finished his dissertation.  Working his way up had been ridiculously easy.

That being said, he was regretting taking the job and every promotion afterwards because not only he woke up to an empty warehouse, but his clothes were caked in blood, his blood and he was tiny. On the plus side, his bullet wound had disappeared, on the bad side, he was roughly the side of eight year old judging by how big his suit was. He would have complained to Moran about the waste of a perfectly good Westwood but Moran was nowhere in sight, until he was.

There was a flash of red light and a body appeared not far from him. James rushed forwards and tripped on his pants. It was a testament to how bizarre the entire situation was that Moran didn’t laugh when James face planted at his feet.

“J-Jim?”  The genius glared from the floor. “Don’t call me that” Moran kept staring so James took the time to untangle his legs and stand. “What the hell happened?” Moran looked around the warehouse. James hoped Sherlock wasn’t around to finish them. “I think it’s fairly obvious” He brushed his shirt, a habit he’d picked up fairly young, and ended up with blood stained hands for his troubles. “But you’re a child!” Moran felt necessary to point out. “So are you” James was very good at gaging the level of frustration he enticed on his employees, he was also aware that being vulnerable as they were was driving Sebastian Moran, soldier extraordinaire crazy.

“It seems that his machine works, I’m not sure where he found the time to develop such a thing between murders, but we should probably retrieve the gun.” Moran nodded, he liked having a goal. “Once we get the gun, I’ll figure out how it works and get us back to normal. It’s best if no one knows about this until we can get rid of the gun and the schematics.” James could picture the kinds of problems they would have if Sherlock decided to mass-produce the thing. “I’m putting a bullet in his head for it.” Moran muttered, picking up his clothes from the floor and managing to wrap them in a semblance of a rucksack. James didn’t argue with that.

“You can’t go out like this. Wait here” Moran spoke after staring a James bloodied shirt. “Woah, hold it. You can’t just leave me alone.” James moved to pick up his own clothes as he moved after his bodyguard. “You can’t go outside covered in blood” Moran closed the door on his face and James had half a mind to go after him out of spite. Moran was going back to decaf. For a year.

Waiting for Moran was like watching paint dry, not that James had ever watched paint dry; he had better things to do with his time. He was quite certain that he had never been this bored in his entire life. To keep from going insane he began going through his pockets. He’d have to check his cards and make sure the gun hadn’t messed them up. Then get them back home without being noticed. Young children were not meant to walk alone. Moran could pass for a twelve year old at best. Hopefully, he still had his gun, they needed something to defend themselves in case they were captured by Mike or Sherlock. He had a plan by the time Moran had returned with clothes that actually fit them. James didn’t bother to ask how he got them, plausible deniability and all.

His cards worked but the passwords had changed. It took him a good six minutes to figure them out. He refused to think about what that meant and focused on taking as much money out as quickly as possible while Moran scanned the street for any sign that they should run. In the end, Sebastian agreed that it was best to head to the nearest safe house instead of his home across London. James would still have access to computers and Moran to weapons. Besides, being reduced to a child was exhausting.

*****

Their first week revolved around getting food, clothes that fit them and finding out what had happened. His safe house, was no longer a safe house, just an empty apartment and someone was going to answer for that when he was an adult.  Irene’s phone was disconnected, and so was anyone he could trust with this kind of sensitive information. In short, they were on their own until this mess was solved.

That led to the second realization, after much research on James part, he found out just how well Sherlock’s gun worked. James Moriarty didn’t exist, there were no traces of him where he should have been and Sebastian Moran had disappeared after being dishonorably discharged which was frankly ridiculous, Sebastian had retired and agreed to work for him after much pestering from Irene. Irene was a whole other deal, she had a website and went by “The Woman”, James was going to make so much fun of her when he got back.

Sebastian refused to believe that the gun had not only sent them back in time but also to an alternate timeline. It was a bit much, but all the evidence pointed towards that. James refused to believe anyone could be smarter than him but secretly hoped Moran was right. The plan had to be adjusted, and James demanded they get a computer, the library just wasn’t secure enough, not for the kind of stuff he was about to do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Moriarty was a genius, Moran was reminded of that fact every minute of every day. Ever since he’d agreed to become his body guard. He was also aware that the man was one accident away from become in a supper villain, if accidents would dare happen in the presence of Moriarty.

“Someone is killing people with poison pills” James thought that was as good conversation opener as any giving their lifestyle. He didn’t move from his pillow across from the laptop but hummed in acknowledgement. It had been a rough couple of weeks for the duo, with having been transported to some bizarre reality where Sherlock Holmes ran around solving murders and posted incredibly dull posts about his experiments and the fact that they were adults trapped in their younger bodies. James wasn’t as angry about the alternate reality as much as with being reduced to a child. He had hated his childhood the first time around and had no intention of repeating the same experience. That coupled with the fact that being a child made everything so much harder. Children weren’t supposed to do anything unsupervised and both of them loathed having to depend on anyone else. Sebastian, being older, handled food runs and pretty much everything they might need while James tried to make sense of their lives.

“Same method of execution, it’s not him or he’s getting sloppy” It wasn’t a perfect arrangement, they argued almost all the time but they had money, a roof over their heads, clothes and more importantly, means of researching. Sebastian still had the occasional bouts of denial where he went on and on about how this was a setup and this Sherlock was the psychopath they had been trying to capture. James let him rant, biting down the urge to point out everything wrong with that theory.

 “Still, we should hunt the bastard down and get the gun” Moran insisted between bites of his sandwich. It seemed he was back into denial. “I doubt he’s just going to leave the gun laying around” James made a ‘give me’ gesture from his place in front of the computer and Sebastian contemplated throwing the other sandwich at his head. He was tired of acting like a child, Sebastian just wanted to go back to his flat and pretend none of this ever happened. Sitting around wasn’t going to fix this and quite frankly, he was getting restless. James seemed to believe no one was after them but he had his doubts, James had also chased a serial killer into a warehouse. Sebastian was surprised the idiot had survived this long, he clearly had no sense of self preservation.

“Oh, great genius, how are we going to find him or the gun? London is not exactly small.” He decided on sarcasm instead of just chewing loudly until James could be bothered to move away from the computer. Sebastian couldn’t help but wish Irene was here, she had a way of making dealing with James Moriarty manageable. That woman was a saint.

 “221 Baker Street. Calls himself a Consulting Detective” The younger boy finally moved to eat wrinkling his nose but otherwise silent. James hated Tuna, which was precisely the reason Sebastian had bought it. “Google” James answered before Sebastian even had a chance to understand what he had said.

“We watch the place and break in while he’s out doing whatever it is he does” Sebastian vaguely remembered the area, there were stores they could use to watch the place without attracting attention. James continued to eat his sandwich while Sebastian plotted. He had spent most of the day reading ‘The Science of Deduction’. It was mind numbingly boring and should be used as a form of torture. Nevertheless, James had read every post, it would help him gage Sherlock’s personality and predict his behavior. The genius was a sucker for predicting other people’s behavior. Sherlock wouldn’t know what hit him.

As expected, they ran into a few setbacks, children couldn’t just loiter around without some concerned soul asking about their parent’s whereabouts. James suggested they went up to the roof to avoid people. Once they managed to reach 221, Sebastian tried to eavesdrop of on the conversation by standing close to the open window and James busied himself by reading the paper.

“He’s leaving but there’s still people inside” Moran whispered for some reason. “Why are they taking so long?” James covered his yawn; they had been there for a while. “It’s quite obviously a cabbie” James got up from his make shift bed and mover closer to the window area. “What do you mean?” Sebastian looked uneasy. “Just look at the places where people disappeared from, they are taxi routes, that explain the distinct lack of signs of struggle. As for the pill, it’s fairly obvious. He’s old and/ or unassuming, people are less likely to feel threatened by him. Male, because statistically speaking, the majority of serial killers are male. Women tend to kill for vengeance not for sport. Low income, hence the job as a taxi driver and the different age, gender and look of his victims, he’s just killing whomever he can get. He’s somewhat clever, he doesn’t just kill them but gets the victims to kill themselves. He must offer them a chance of escape or they wouldn’t take the pills. He probably watches them die… His trigger is fairly recent-” Sebastian ran to the fire stairs mid explanation, leaving a confused James behind.

James didn’t bother to follow, he wasn’t in the mood to chase people anyways. Sebastian would comeback once he was done with that. Instead he waited until he was certain no one else was in the flat to break in.

James Moriarty was a genius, Moran was reminded of that fact every minute of every day. Ever since he’d agreed to become his body guard. He was also aware that the man was one accident away from become in a supper villain, if accidents would dare happen in the presence of Moriarty. It was frankly terrifying, the precision with which the genius ran the country, not that he didn’t have his fingers all over the world. Sebastian had been a bit awestruck in the beginning. Moriarty’s web, an army spread all over with the sole purpose of following his every whim, was a work of art that would leave any intelligence agency drooling. So when the mad genius said the cabbie was the killer, Sebastian knew better than to doubt his assessment. It just so happened that there was a cabbie waiting outside holding a phone that clearly wasn’t his.

“-for Mister Holmes” The veteran moved closer. Holmes asked for a taxi, maybe they were working together. Maybe James had gotten in wrong, for once. He picked up his pace running straight into the cabbie, male, Caucasian, old. No, James was never wrong. Sebastian apologized making sure to sound child-like and kept walking. He would double back later on. For a serial killer, the cabbie was disappointing, he hadn’t even noticed when Sebastian had taken his wallet and a tiny bottle with a pink and white pill.

They met by the fire escape. Apparently, Sherlock Holmes had a security system in place and James was working on bypassing it before they could get in. That and they had to wait for the others to leave. “Cameras?” James smirked showing the feed he had hacked into. They could see the entire flat with the exception of one room. That would make their search easier once the place was empty. Except that no one else was leaving. One would think that once Holmes had disappeared with a serial killer the others would notice.

“Can you hack into their phones? Send them pictures without being traced?” Sebastian placed the pill bottle on the ground along with the serial killer’s driver’s license. James snapped a picture and sent it to one of the police officers followed by a text.

_The killer cabbie is striking again, get to it. - =)_

The two watched the reaction through the feed as the officers began making phone calls then rushed out of the flat. James ignored the text in favor shutting the cameras off. They had to move fast and make sure not to leave any trace of their presence.


End file.
